


Christmas Isn't Christmas Without You

by MadCatta



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-09
Updated: 2013-12-09
Packaged: 2018-01-04 03:02:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,859
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1075763
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MadCatta/pseuds/MadCatta
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for the Destiel advent calendar 2013</p>
            </blockquote>





	Christmas Isn't Christmas Without You

Dean’s hands grip the armrest so hard that his knuckles are white. Cas kisses his cheek and slips a hand over his.

“Calm down, it’s going to be okay.”

But Dean isn’t listening to him; he’s humming Metallica and tapping his feet, as scared by the flight as Cas is about after the flight. Cas has met Sam Winchester before, but he’s spending Christmas with Dean’s family this time. His own family doesn’t celebrate Christmas because his own family doesn’t celebrate much of anything at all, so Dean’s invited Cas over.

This is going to be a happy family, a happy extended family apparently. Grandparents and aunts and uncles and cousins, and probably the most intimidating situation Cas has ever been placed in.

Dean hardly relaxes when they’re in the air. “Knew I should have stayed close to home,” he mutters with a pained face.

Actually it’s more of a constipated face.

“Relax,” says Cas.

“You relax,” Dean shoots back.

Brilliant.

Eventually Dean rests his head on Cas’ shoulder and stops the humming, but still clings to the armrests for dear life. “My mom’s gonna love you, don’t worry,” Dean says quietly.

“Moms never love me.”

“My mom loves me and I love you so she’ll think you’re great,” Dean says simply, like he’s not nearly crying every time the plane makes a sudden movement.

And then they hit some turbulence and Dean whimpers and hums loudly. Cas sighs and pulls out _Ulysses._

Half an hour later and Cas’ attention has wandered, much more focused on Dean’s eyelashes fluttering with every bump, his parted lips and flushed cheeks. Cas isn’t sure he’s met someone more attractive than Dean. _My North, my South, my East and West,_ he thinks.

“We’re almost there,” he tells Dean.

“Thank fuck.” Dean exhales and runs his fingers over his mouth. “I fucking hate flying.”

“I know you do.”

Dean grins apologetically at him before going pale when the seatbelt sign flashes on again.

Cas sighs, heavy and exaggerated. “It’s because we’re descending, will you calm down?”

It’s only when he leaves the plane that he stops his infernal humming and has a bounce in his step again. “Gonna see Sammy, Cas,” Dean grins. “Get to see Mom, Dad, I even wanna see the stupid dog.”

“Golden retrievers are theorised to be the fourth smartest breed,” says Cas.

Dean looks at him from the side. “How the fuck do you know that? Is that all you do, look up weirdo facts? God, you’ll get along with Sammy so fucking well. Kind of thing he’ll spout, and then tell you the history and the – I don’t know, the genetics of them or something.”

Dean’s almost vibrating with excitement but Cas feels sick. They queue through customs and Dean talks nonstop about his family, and it’s cute. He’s like a little kid, but Cas can’t get enthusiastic.

“Will you stop your fucking worrying!” Dean says loudly as they round the corner into arrivals. Cas smiles apologetically at those who look over at Dean’s swearing, and he hopes there aren’t kids around. “My mom is the best, I promise you, it’s gonna be –“ Dean stops and grins widely. Cas looks over and sees Dean’s brother standing next to a pretty blonde woman. He assumes it’s Dean’s mother by how she beams.  Sam jumps forward and Dean leaves the bags with Cas, dashing over and throws an arm around his brother and hugs him tight, kisses his mother on the cheek and hugs her, and then squirms as she fixes the collar of his shirt.

Cas drags the bags he’s been left with over to Dean and his family, relieved that it at least gives him something to do while approaching Dean’s family. He hears Dean’s mother saying, “Have I not taught you any manners? Go help him with the bags!”

Dean slinks back, sheepish but with shining eyes, and they drop the bags in front of Sam and Dean’s mother. Dean laces a hand through Cas’ and says, “Mom, this is Cas.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mrs Win-“ and suddenly Cas remembers that Dean’s parents are divorced, and he stumbles. “Uh –“

But she saves him, pulling him into a hug. “Mary, Cas. Call me Mary.”

Cas calls her Mary.

“Sammy, you ever gonna cut your hair?” Dean says good-naturedly to his little brother, tugging on his long locks.

Sam pulls away with an irritated expression. “Shut up, I like it,” he protests.

“His girlfriend seems to like it too,” Mary says nonchalantly, and Dean – no better word for it – shrieks loud enough to turn heads.

“Sammy!” He says excitedly, patting Sam’s cheek, “You never told me that!”

“Mom!” Sam protests, cheeks red.

Mary grins. She and Dean have the same smile, Cas notes.

“Her name’s Amy,” Sam says with reluctance, but Cas doesn’t believe his unwillingness to tell Dean about her, for he keeps his eyes fixed on Dean for a reaction.

“And she’s very sweet,” Mary smiles.

“Good for you, Sammy,” Dean grins. “We get to meet her?”

Sam shrugs.

If Cas remembers correctly, Sam is sixteen. Apparently just hit a growth spurt too, for Dean lets out an anguished yell when he sees the two of them reflected, sees Sam is only an inch smaller than him.

“Bullshit, that’s what it is,” he says loudly and brashly. Mary chides him but Sam seems happy with the attention. Dean turns around quickly to flash a bright grin at Cas and take his hand, pulling Cas to keep up with them all.

Dean’s clearly very happy to be home, not usually quite this loud, not quite so open about Cas.

Cas welcomes it.

Sam and Mary aren’t as alike as Sam and Dean, or Dean and Mary, so Sam must favor his father’s side. But Sam and Mary have the same walk; a dignified and confident walk, something Dean doesn’t have. They also don’t share Dean’s bowlegs, but Sam walks slightly hunched, apologising for his height.

“He was always a short kid,” Mary says to Cas, looking at Sam fondly. “Been up half the night these past few weeks from growing pains.”

“I was the same,” Cas says. He’s only an inch or so shorter than Dean, but was always one of the shorter children, and remembers the growing pains all too well.

Sam’s very lanky. Coltish, certainly still figuring out where his extremities are.

Mary laughs the way Cas always thought a mother should laugh at Dean’s reaction to seeing his car again.

“Oh, Baby!” he moans, running his hands over the bonnet.

“You want us to give you a minute?” Sam snarks, and Dean flips him off in return, only to get chided by his mother.

“Cas, come over here,” Dean urges, “Meet my baby.”

“I thought I was your baby,” Cas grumbles with a smile. And then flushes when he remembers how close Sam and Mary are.

“Shut up.”

It’s a beautiful car. Black and sleek and it makes an impression. He tells Dean as much, and Dean scowls.

“She. Not it.”

Sam rolls his eyes. “God, Dean, it’s a fucking car!”

“Sam!” chides Mary, as Dean rounds on Sam.

“She’s like a family member. Would you say that about your sister?” Dean says angrily.

“Oh my God, Dean, come on!”

Mary rolls her eyes at Cas as Sam and Dean bicker, and Cas smiles hesitantly back. He takes the bags from her and loads up the car.

Mary smiles at Cas again. “At least someone’s a gentlemen,” she says loudly, and Cas beams. Sam and Dean stop their argument to roll their eyes together about Cas, but Dean cracks a grin when he meets Cas' eye.

Dean persuades Mary to let him drive, so Cas sits in the back with Sam. He doesn’t have to suffer any awkward silences or forced conversations with Sam, for most of the ride is Dean’s whistling, and his and Sam’s sniping at each other, Dean catching up on their lives.

They pull up outside of a white and green house, large flower beds at the side and along the front. Mary makes coffee and leaves shortly with Sam to go grocery shopping, so Dean wastes no time blowing Cas in his childhood room, and jerking off onto Cas’ stomach.

“You’re disgusting,” Cas says afterwards as he plays with the cooling spunk on his stomach.

“And you’re pretty,” croons Dean, pulling Cas in for a chaste kiss. “Come on,” he grins, “you’ve gotta meet Bones.”

Bones is a big, smelly dog; a beautiful dark Golden Retriever who jumps up and licks and slobbers everywhere.

“We chose him because he’s just like Sam,” Dean says fondly, rubbing up and down his neck.

Cas sits on the thick wooden table, looking about the room. Bookcases line the walls, set with embarrassing holiday pictures and trinkets people accumulate over time. Flowery wallpaper and a pale jade paint job, a photo of Dean on his prom with his arms around a girl. Sam grinning, arms around Bones. One of the boys – he thinks Dean because of the bright blond hair but the colors in the picture have faded – with Mary’s arms around him as a young boy.

Sam’s essays and report cards line the refrigerator along with homemade fridge magnets made at summer camps. It’s a stinging reminder of how distant Cas’ own family is – but then he sees a very old picture of the four Winchesters together and remembers even this family isn’t perfect.

“Oh God, are you looking at baby pictures?” Dean slings a hand around Cas’ waist and turns him away. “At least let me show you when I got hot.” He points to a picture of himself in a Christmas sweater next to Sam and Mary. Dean does not look good in this picture; he’s very much the epitome of a gawky nineties teen.

Cas laughs and Dean slaps his stomach. “You look very cute,” Cas smiles, kissing Dean.

“Ew, Mom, they’re kissing!” says Sam in a stage whisper, coming in through the front door.

“Shut up, Bitch,” Dean replies.

~

They tuck into spaghetti bolognaise in the evening, and Mary chides all three of them for feeding the dog under the table. Cas thanks Mary and he and Dean excuse themselves, claiming tiredness from travel - an absolutely true claim.

Cas slips into bed in his tee shirt and boxers and is quickly covered by Dean’s body. “You’re a barnacle,” he grumbles, but Dean presses a kiss to his collarbone and slips a hand over Cas’ waist.

“Shut up and sleep,” says Dean, dropping off quickly.

Cas shuts up and sleeps.

He wakes up early, can never sleep properly in a new bed even if it’s the same man wrapped around him. Cas wriggles out of Dean’s hold and pees and washes his hands and slides back in beside Dean, smiling down at him as he does so. Dean curls back around Cas, and with a sigh that he doesn’t quite mean, Cas pulls Dean up so his head rests on Cas’ chest.

He’s reading poetry when Dean finally wakes up, bleary-eyed and wiping drool off his cheek.

“Are you kidding me?” Dean murmurs, peeking at Cas through the gap between his eyelids. “It’s fucking Christmas.”

“Means I can do as I please,” Cas replies, turning the page. He loves how the words have music to them, have colours. It’s not a cheery poem, but good poems rarely are, and _The Danse Macabre_ resonates in Cas at any possible time.

Cas doesn’t know what the appeal of reading poems is, he just knows he feels it. Every single word in poetry has power; he can focus on a single line and discover so much. It’s why he finds fiction harder; whole paragraphs in fiction have the same impact as a simple line in a poem, and the words can get lost and are much more meaningless.

Fiction flows but poetry rages on, leaving Cas struggling to keep up and battered by meanings and implications.

He loves it.

Dean is more of a daredevil than Cas, takes to riding stunt bikes over jumps to show off, skateboarding and breaking into abandoned buildings just for the thrill, but that isn’t to say Cas doesn’t enjoy the rush. He goes skiing every year and the rush of speeding down the slopes and being on the edge of control is a feeling parallel to none, and the right poem can give him a similar rush.

Not that he’d ever say that to Dean, who’d tease him mercilessly.

The dog starts barking downstairs and Dean groans and stretches, arching his back so his ass presses against Cas’ legs.

“Gotta let Bones out,” Dean says, sounding none too pleased. He stretches up and peers over the edge of Cas’ book. “Your poetry is dumb.”

“Auden is one of the greatest poets,” complains Cas, “and this is not dumb in the slightest.” He pulls his free arm over Dean’s chest, pinning Dean to him.

“Who’s the barnacle now?” Dean grumbles, trying to get free. They wrestle; book still in Cas’ hand, Dean fighting weakly until he grasps Cas around the waist and kisses him quickly. Cas pushes Dean back, climbing on top of him. “So good-bye to the house with its wallpaper red,” he says huskily, creeping up Dean’s body. “Good-bye to the sheets on the warm double bed.”

“Are you trying to turn me on, you filthy boy?” Dean asks with a smirk to Cas above him.

“Good-bye to the beautiful birds on the wall,” Cas continues, gruff in Dean’s ear.

Dean pushes him off with a laugh. “Stop it, I’ve gotta let Bones out!”

He pulls off his top, treating Cas to his muscular back. “It’s good-bye, dear heart, good-bye to you all!” Cas yells out after him.

“You suck at dirty talk!” is Dean’s reply.

Cas sits back in bed, grinning stupidly, heart as light as it’s ever been.

~

By the time Cas is up and showered, Dean and Sam are bickering over what radio station should be on and flicking crumbs at each other. He gets down just in time to see Dean squash his hand in crumbs and rub it in Sam’s long hair.

“Dean!” Sam screeches, “That’s so gross!”

Dean ducks his head away, clapping his hands over his ears. “God, Sam, are you trying to make me deaf?”

Sam aims a kick at Dean’s shin. It lands and Dean swears foully, punching out at Sam’s arms.

There’s a lot of this. Sam and Dean bicker constantly, but it seems to save the family from the raging rows that torment Cas’ own family. Every one of Cas’ siblings seem to develop talent to argue longer, disagree louder and hate stronger than the last, except for Cas who’s grown somewhat apathetic. Sam and Dean just take to the occasional punches and headlocks, hair pulling and scratching.

“Such a fucking girl, Sammy,” Dean says angrily, running his hand along the scratches on his arm.

“And hair pulling is so masculine?” Sam shoots back quickly, rubbing the sore spot on his head. 

“Boys!” Mary Winchester is an imposing presence; a raised eyebrow will often reduce Dean to a sheepish smile and a kiss on the cheek, but even she can’t stop the childish bickering.

Bickering never seemed a real thing to Cas until college, where roommates would have stupid arguments at the drop of a hat. It was an Ideal Family trait, the sort that Cas only really understood when he met Dean. There’s no other word for sibling disagreements, nitpicking and well placed jabs, physical and verbal.

And then Dean will lace an arm around Sam and tell him about a new tv show. It gives Cas whiplash, can't imagine what it's like for Sam. 

Cas supposes that it's life, for Sam. It's how he and Dean interact. 

“Are you and your siblings this bad, Cas?” Mary asks him.

Cas smiles weakly, shifts on his feet and doesn’t know what to say. His family isn’t awful but explaining their arguments would make for a highly awkward situation, make Mary wish she hadn’t asked.

Mary happily accepts Cas' non-answer, instead tousles Dean’s hair fondly. “Stop annoying your brother, Dean. You and Cas wanna help me make some pie?”

Dean’s face brightens stupidly when Mary mentions pie. 

“Don’t spit in it, Jerk,” Sam hisses, throwing a glob of butter at Dean. Bones comes in and licks it up from the floor.

“ _Boys!”_

Dean is a good cook. He’s actually been successful in cooking for Cas on dates, even good at baking. Cas has many talents; he’s clever, he’s a hard worker and a skilled pianist, has won an award or two (it’s two, he just likes to appear nonchalant about them) for his poems and there’s been a few instances in which he’s made people laugh.

Cooking? No.

He’s simply uncomfortable with it. It’s not that he can’t use his hands, for he can, wouldn’t be a pianist if he couldn’t, and he’s a certificate in first aid and is altogether pretty handy. He just doesn’t trust the amounts without a strict recipe, doesn’t understand how you can cook otherwise. And when he has a recipe he works through it painstakingly, getting needlessly upset when things don’t go quite as planned and it’s an altogether miserable experience so he doesn’t cook. And because he doesn’t cook, he’s a bad cook.

“You don’t enjoy cooking?” Mary asks.

“Not really,” Cas replies, looking at Mary’s pink cheeks. “I find it stressful.”

“Dean tells me you’re good with your hands.”

Cas sees Dean choking behind Mary and tries not to laugh himself. “I play piano.”

Mary beams. “My mom used to play. It can sound beautiful.”

Cas usually struggles at small talk, and with his boyfriend’s mother it seems no easier. He flounders for a minute before settling on a safe “Did you teach Dean how to cook?”

Dean and Mary both laugh.

“Mom can’t cook, Cas,” Dean says in an easy voice. “Had to teach myself so I wouldn’t get food poisoning!”

Mary rolls her eyes at her eldest son. “I never gave it much attention, and when Dean was a little kid and pestering my mom to let him lick the spoon, she decided she’d teach him. Tried with Sam too but I think he gets it from me.”

“Mom can’t make toast,” Dean teases.

“It’s true,” Sam says, entering the kitchen with Bones at his side. “She makes cookies for Christmas and burns them every year.”

“The best was when she forgot to put sugar in,” adds Dean.

“I still made the effort,” Mary laughs, tossing her blond curls back.

It’s easy for Cas to dwell on how perfect their home is, with the right amount of personality and clutter, the warm Mary and lively Sam and Dean, but sometimes Sam pushes up his sleeve and Cas can see the white lines dotted across his arm, there’s notches in the banister from Dean counting his parents’ arguments. Poor Bones only has one eye and Mary appears to find vouchers a necessity in keeping her kitchen stocked.

“What does your mom do?” Cas asks Dean, having given up any pretence of trying to help bake.

“She walks dogs in the daytime and teaches self defence in the evenings,” Dean answers, drawing penises in the flour on the counter.

Cas blinks. He wasn’t quite expecting that answer.

“Yeah, you don’t want to get on her bad side, huh,” Dean says, dotting flecks of ejaculate across his picture. “Perfect.”

“Gross,” says Sam on his way past.

“Yeah, Mom’s pretty badass,” continues Dean, turning around and tapping flour onto Cas’ nose. He grins widely, white teeth flashing and goes back to making his apple pie filling.

Sam and Bones bound back into the room, a bright pink disc in Bones’ mouth. “Cas, you wanna play Frisbee?” Sam asks enthusiastically.

Cas glances quickly at Dean, absorbed in his apples.

“You’ve got flour on your nose,” Sam comments as he leads Cas outside.

“I’m aware,” Cas replies drily.

Sam’s more enthusiastic with the Frisbee than the dog, throwing it every which way and running about the backyard, tussling with the dog for rights of Frisbee. Even gets Cas sprinting for it and teasing Bones, and not that Cas doesn’t like his exercise - he’s a runner - but sports with people? Not really his thing.

Sam throws the Frisbee high and Cas and Bones both leap up, laughing loudly when Bones collides with Cas’ legs.

“Dumb dog,” Cas says fondly, rubbing his hands over Bones’ head. Bones slobbers on his jeans, getting his leg uncomfortably cold where the wet is. The tip of his nose is growing numb and he’s almost lost feeling in his extremities but Cas takes up the Frisbee and flips it toward Sam.

“Hey!” Sam complains as he’s made to sprint the full length of the yard.

Cas hasn’t got great aim.

~

The kitchen smells of apple pie when Sam and Cas return to it, shivering and vaguely muddy. Led Zeppelin booms from the radio but there’s no sign of Dean.

Cas takes his shoes off so not to track mud through the house, but Sam doesn’t have the same qualms and it seems no one in the family trained Bones properly, as he jumps up and rests his muddy paws on the counter, trying to lick up the food Dean’s left messily around.

“Bones!” Sam chides. He walks up to the dog and takes his paws, dropping him slowly to the ground. “Don’t do that,” he says as he rubs Bones’ head.

“It’s ineffective to reprimand dogs after they’ve been bad,” points out Cas.

Sam ducks his head, embarrassed. “Yeah, I know. We’ve never been that great telling him off. Dean’s kind of good at it and Mom’s okay, but…” he shrugs. “Can’t be angry with you, dumb mutt!”

Bones lets his tongue hand out, panting happily.

“Any pets, Cas?”

“Gabriel,” he deadpans.

“What?”

Cas flushes. “It was a joke. My uh – my brother Gabriel. He’s kind of – uh,” he tails off, pulling a face.

Sam’s face brightens. “Oh! Hah!” He fiddles with Bones’ collar for a minute as Cas washes his hands at the sink, bringing life back to his fingertips.

“Hey, Cas?” Sam asks hesitantly.

Cas turns his head towards Sam, so he knows he’s listening.

“You know Dean and me are going to my dad’s the day after next?”

“Dean told me, yes.”

“What are you gonna do?”

Cas hasn’t decided. Dean’s offered the idea that his father would be happy if Cas came, but John Winchester has always sounded a very intimidating man to Cas. And Dean doesn’t spend much time with his dad and misses out; Dean’s expressed wishes to see him more often. Only mentioned it offhand to Cas, never tried to do anything about it because Dean hates for people to know what affects him.

Cas doesn’t want to intrude on this special day for them, but neither does he want to potter about the house with just him and Mary, so he’s undecided on the matter.

He simply shrugs and Sam doesn’t press.

He finds Dean in the lounge watching _Star Trek_ reruns,  which he and Cas spend the afternoon watching, and reluctantly help Mary tidy up the house on her return. When Sam comes in to watch perhaps the only documentary broadcasted this close to Christmas (and in actual fact Cas would be happy watching this with him), he and Dean go upstairs and play video games.

“I won’t join you tomorrow,” Cas says abruptly half way through the game.

Dean nods and kills another character. “What are you gonna do?”

“Work on my essay, perhaps.”

Dean nods again.

“Did you want me to come?” Cas inquires.

Dean shrugs. “I don’t know, man. Be nice if you met him, but…” Dean struggles for words, killing more characters quickly and with more skill than Cas will ever have.

“It’s Dad, you know?” Dean says quietly, eyes focused on the tv. “It’s nice being just family. But you’re important to me, so.”

So.

The next morning is a little more subdued, with Dean and Sam dressing smarter than usual and Dean fusses over Cas.

“Your house, man. Treat it as your own, go out or stay in bed all day, Mom won’t mind,” Dean assures Cas.

~

In actual fact, Cas isn’t too uncomfortable in the house without Dean. Mary gives him a space on the dining table for him to work at, tells him to help himself to anything and fusses about wrapping the Winchesters’ presents.

The other Winchesters. Kate and Adam and John.

Dean kisses Cas goodbye while Sam busies himself with saying goodbye to Bones, and suddenly the house is quiet. Mary turns the radio on to a soft rock station as she tidies up the kitchen and Cas starts writing his essay.

Cas isn’t a fan of Keats. Most romantic poets, in fact. He prefers those at the turn of the century, early twentieth century poets like Auden and Eliot, farther back to Oscar Wilde. Obvious taste, his friend Crowley snarks, no finesse and too far in the public view for Crowley’s liking. And while Cas isn’t always a great fan of people, he reasons that lasting the years as well as his favourites mean his favourites are perhaps more worth lasting than Crowley’s.

Sure, there are less known greats, and Cas loves them too, but if he were to pick his favourite, it’s likely to coincide with the majority.

And Cas is accepting of this.

Anna would always bitch he only likes them because they were gay, and bitches that there are no women in his favourites (despite his frequent quoting of Dorothy Parker).

She, of course, protests poetry is a waste of time, pretentious and pointless, and then devours Stephen King.

Not that there’s anything wrong with Stephen King, at least not to Cas’ eyes. Perhaps it’s not the greatest literature ever written, but it’s still enjoyable and clever. Michael always disagreed, but then Anna’s choice of weapon was always books thrown at his head, and if Cas had _The Shining_ aimed at his face, he might have had a slight aversion to it also.  

It’s been a while since Cas has heard from Anna. She’s always been very driven, and last Cas heard was that she was doing very well in her company and ‘didn’t have time to chat’. Like most of his siblings, really.

She is someone Cas always has time for, however. Time and respect. Anna would tease Cas and irritate him, but was ultimately the one to guide him into coming out, guiding him into studying a Lit major.  She guided Gabriel to moving out, and in actual fact Cas has always thought her better suited to teaching.

Hester, training to be a teacher herself, would sneer. Sweet, Hester is, but cruel to Anna and Gabriel.

Cas wonders if he might become a teacher. The enthusiasm from his professors makes him all the more desperate to study, and while Cas isn’t usually dripping in eagerness, he’s certainly more energetic when discussing poetry.

The pen drops from Cas’ hand and he jumps. Crap. He’s written nothing.

Mary makes him soup and a sandwich before going out to walk eight dogs. He assumes not all at once, but she certainly seems prepared for it in Wellington boots and ratty jeans, a plaid shirt, thick jacket and a carabiner attached to her belt. Somehow Mary’s still attractive wearing a fanny pack, and Cas hadn’t thought that possible (despite Dean’s jokes that Cas has the style of an old man, even he knows fanny packs are absolutely not cool).

It’s the 23rd of December, and Cas still has presents left to wrap. They’ve decided as a family not to do presents this year, given half the family isn’t speaking to the other half, and made vague plans to meet up over Easter, so Cas only has presents for Dean and his family.

He’s anxious about them. For Sam and Mary, they’re only polite gestures, but Dean’s matters.  

Bones whines so Cas looks at him. Bones whines again and licks his balls. Cas isn’t sure what he means by this. Once he’s done exploring his genitals, Bones lollops over and drops his head down on Cas’ lap.

“You’re really slobbery, you know that?” Cas says. Bones slobbers more.

Cas gives up and retires to the couch with Bones, falling asleep on each other. Cas wakes when Mary returns, and becomes bored when she leaves again. Cas opens his book and reads for a half hour, fingers tapping out movements on the cover.

It gets to two PM and Mary returns again, taking Bones out and she invites Cas to join them. He bundles up nice and warm, not really one for cold weather, and they trudge around town and the park.

“You’re a quiet kid, huh,” Mary says after a while of silence.

And really, how do you respond to that? Cas smiles uneasily.

“Just a shock. Sam and Dean can be so loud, even just playing loud music. You’re not so into that?”

“I like silence,” Cas shrugs. Silence is clean and crisp. It appeals to Cas.

Mary throws the tennis ball hard and Bones bounds after it. “You get that around Dean?”

Cas considers this. Dean is not silent; he’s not clean and crisp. He brings a smile to Cas’ face though.

“I think you suit each other, anyway,” says Mary. “You make Dean happy, I hope you see that.”

The smile on his face may be small, but light is bursting inside of him. Dean respects his mother highly, calls her every other day, so Cas has a high opinion of her. And if Mary thinks well of him, which seems to be the case, well. Cas is pleased, to say the least.

Mary catches his eye and beams at him, Dean’s bright smile shining through her face, and Cas grins before he catches himself.

“No – Bones!” Mary yells out, anguished suddenly. Cas looks over to see the dog rolling about in the grass.

“That better not be poop,” Mary growls, and Cas laughs suddenly. Mary turns to him in surprise before laughing herself, and she runs gracefully over to the dog.

“Not seeing your siblings for Christmas?” asks Mary, later into the walk.

Water from the grass seeps up Cas’s jeans, cooling his already cold legs and making keeping pace with Mary difficult. Not that it should be, as Cas is a few inches taller than her. “We don’t always get along well,” he explains, “and the idea of all of us in one room for days at a time might – _aggravate_ an already explosive situation.”

“Sounds painful,” Mary comments.

“We all have distinct personalities,” says Cas delicately.

“You have a favorite?”

“Anna,” Cas says quickly.

“Oh yeah?”

“She knows her own mind and she follows it.”

“And you respect that?”

Cas does. Michael lives his life in accordance with what he thinks their father would approve of. Gabriel flits off – mind, he’s always there when Cas needs him. Luke hides – hides his thoughts and feelings behind a cruel exterior, and sometimes even hides himself. Hester does as she’s told, and so does Cas.

And that’s not considering how his cousins like to involve themselves.

“Anna can have an extraordinary presence,” Cas says eventually.

~

Sam and Dean don’t get home until six. Cas expects Dean to be acting radically different, but he bounces in as per usual, flinging his arms around Cas’ neck and planting a wet kiss on his cheek and then does the same to his mother. Cas doesn’t know what to make of this.

“How was your father?” Cas asks when they’re alone in Dean’s room.

“Good,” says Dean, voice muffled from the shirt he’s pulling over his head. Cas watches his back ripple, long and freckled, admires the muscles that fan out from his spine. “Adam’s a cute kid. Wants to follow Dad’s footsteps and become a doctor.”

“Noble of him,” comments Cas.

Dean pulls a face. “Yeah. Adam’s real... _swell_. Awesome in school, head in a book, just like Sammy really. Great kid.”

Cas waits patiently. Dean likes to pretend he’s in control of his emotions but really they’re written on his face, in how he moves about and where he looks. Not that Cas has to wait, for it isn’t hard to understand what Dean’s getting at, in his roundabout way.

“He won’t waste any money being in college,” says Dean offhandedly, stripping off his pants.

“Don’t,” says Cas. “You enjoy college, you deserve to be there.”

“Mm.” Dean runs his forefinger and thumb down his mouth, turning to face Cas full on. He turns the radio on and approaches Cas to _Bachman Turner Overdrive,_ bobbing his head and pretending to drum.

“Idiot,” says Cas, taking Dean’s drumming hands and pulling them around his waist.

“Gotta get you undressed now,” Dean growls in Cas’ ear.

They have sex quickly and quietly, and Dean settles himself with Cas’ arms around him. Cas likes this position, likes being wrapped around Dean, likes being able to lean forward and kiss the freckles on Dean’s neck. He can fall asleep breathing in Dean’s smell, as long as he doesn’t get too hot.

And he can whisper things in Dean’s ear.

“You’re brilliant, you know that, right?” Cas murmurs.

Dean nods his head sleepily. “I am good at sex,” he slurs back.

“In all respects,” Cas insists, kissing his ear.

Dean hums softly and pulls Cas’ hand further around himself.

“Not as great as you,” Dean whispers.

Cas’ parents are only an hour away from where Dean lives, and so in the morning they make their ways over. _Led Zeppelin_ plays softly in the car and Dean rests a hand on Cas’ knee on the highway. Cas picks up some of his mother’s favorite flowers – lilies, traditional and dignified – at a local florists, and he and Dean walk up the gravel hand in hand.

Cas pushes back the weeds at the bottom of the stone grave markers, kisses his fingertips and presses it to the gravestone. Does the same to the one next.

“Merry Christmas,” he says quietly, Dean’s hand squeezing his. His mother had told every one of her children that she had a favorite flower, and it differed depending on who asked her, so at her grave there are bright sunflowers and yellow roses, snapdragons, tulips and peonies. And Cas’ lilies. His father’s grave has nothing, for his father is next to his mother and that’s all he’d ever said he needed.

Cas stands up and Dean comes up behind him, wraps his hands around Cas’ middle and rests his head on Cas’ shoulder. They stand for a few minutes, until snow begins to fall around them. Dean presses a quick kiss to Cas’ cheek and another to the back of his head.

“It’s beautiful here,” he says.

“They married in that church,” Cas says. “We were all christened here, even though it was a five hour trip.”

They don’t stay long but they do stay in silence. Cas finds his mind is quietest by the gravestones. Five minutes might as well be five hours, and the walk back to the car in the snow, Dean’s hand in his, is more than worth the trip.

~

Mary’s family starts arriving shortly after Dean and Cas return, so Cas hides in the kitchen and busies himself with getting drinks and letting Bones out into the yard. Sam joins him shortly, resting his skinny body against the counter. He’s got lipstick over his lips and cheeks.

“You have lipstick,” and Cas motions to his face.

Sam flushes and gets some paper towel, rubbing at his lips and cheeks. “Thanks – uh, my grandma,” he says, not meeting Cas’ eyes and growing a darker red.

“You were with your girlfriend?”

Sam looks up guiltily. “Just for a little while. While I was picking up the milk.”

They meet eyes and smile. “Hey, heads up,” Sam says quietly, “my cousins are weird and kinda douchey at times, but just ignore them.”

“Sure,” Cas replies.

Dean comes in with a box and a grin. “Grandma got us advent calendars,” he says with glee, handing one to Sam.

“Christmas is _tomorrow,_ ” says Sam incredulously.

Dean takes it back off him. “Don’t eat it then.”

“I still wan’ it,” Sam protests, holding onto one end.

“Nah-uh,” Dean taunts, “Little bitches don’t get advent calendars.”

“ _Dean!_ ”

The grappling over the advent calendar stops when a bald man enters the room and they both straighten up, Dean tucking the advent calendars behind his back. The man’s eyes roam over Cas and the Winchesters.

“Grandpa,” Sam and Dean say in unison with sheepish expressions.

Cas nods at the man.

“Sam, Dean,” he says, shaking each of their hands before rounding on Cas. “And you’re… Cas?”

“It’s short for Castiel,” Cas explains.

Dean’s grandfather’s eyes bulge. “Castiel?”

“My parents were very religious.”

“Right,” Dean’s grandfather nods. “Good to meet you, anyway,” and he shakes Cas’s hand. His hands are calloused and strong, and Cas feels immediately like he’s being challenged. “Samuel,” the man says.

“Deanna’s gonna be getting jobs for you all if you keep hanging about in here,” Samuel says to the boys with a wink.

“Yeah, we’re getting outta here,” Dean says, motioning to Cas.

“Samuel and Deanna?” Cas asks as they leave the room.

Dean pulls a face. “Yeah.”

“Cute,” Cas says with a smile.

“Shut up.”

They’re pushed to one side by Dean’s grandmother, who leans in to kiss Dean’s cheek and pats Cas’ shoulder quickly as she hurries past carrying a turkey and other bags, Mary following heavily laden also.

“What’s happening?” asks Cas as they’re pushed aside again by the women.

“Christmas dinner is always here because it’s in between the whole family and has the room. Mom can’t cook so Grandma and Grandpa come over and cook here and host in the morning, it’s all a big mess,” explains Dean, throwing himself down on the couch.

“ _Bones!_ ” shrieks a woman in the kitchen, and the dog enters the lounge with tail between his legs.

Dean snorts. “Last year, Bones ate half the stuffing.”

There’s another shriek and Sam enters the lounge with a similar expression to the dog. “I took some cranberries,” he says, and sits down by Bones.

At about ten, Samuel comes in bearing beers, handing them out around the room. He teases Sam with one, given he’s only sixteen and really shouldn’t be drinking, but relinquishes it eventually and parks himself in the armchair.

“Scary in there,” he comments idly.

“Yeah, Campbell women are terrifying,” agrees Dean, stuffing chocolates into his mouth.

“You’re disgusting,” says Cas idly.

Samuel seems very happy to keep passing beers around, and by 11:30 Cas is actually kind of tipsy. Sam certainly is, pink cheeked and giggling, arms around Bones and texting on his phone. Dean’s in better shape, bigger than Cas and broader than Sam, and drinks more than both of them on a regular basis, but it’s funny to see Mary and Deanna come in giggling and drinking wine.

Deanna pushes Dean to one side, making room for herself on the couch and Mary sits on the floor in front of Samuel, and with the fire going it’s making for a very stereotypical Christmas. The kind of Christmas Cas always wanted, really. Drinking beer next to his favorite person in the world, a warm dog resting against his legs, drunken laughter at bad jokes on tv.

Samuel keeps an eye on his watch and cheers when it hits midnight and there’s a chorus of merry Christmases before Deanna and Mary retire.

Sam simply drops his head back, giggling at the tv and Samuel’s snores, so Dean nuzzles his head closer to Cas.

“Merry Christmas,” he whispers, pressing a kiss on Cas’ lips.

“Ewwww,” giggles Sam. “I don’t wanna see that.”

“Go to bed then, Bitch,” Dean replies against Cas’ lips.

“C’mon Bonesy,” Sam pats his legs, “On Christmas, you get to sleep in my room!”

“He says that to all the girls,” deadpans Dean. Sam flips him off and Samuel awakes with a snort.

“Must’ve dropped off,” he says blearily.

“While back, Grandpa,” Dean replies, breaking away from Cas.

“Right,” says Samuel, giving Cas and Dean a strange look. “Gonna go up then, g’night boys.”

“Night,” chorus Cas and Dean.

“We should go, too,” Dean says, patting Cas’s thigh.

“We should,” agrees Cas, not moving.

They sit for a few more minutes until Dean hauls Cas up and they make their way upstairs.

It’s only as he staggers upstairs that Cas realises he’s actually had a fair amount to drink. He giggles as he trips up going into Dean’s room. Dean sighs behind him.

He likes this room, Cas decides as he lies back on Dean’s bed, staring up at the white ceiling.

“Dude, what are you doing?” Dean slaps the bottom of Cas’ foot with the back of his hand.

“I like this room,” Cas says happily.

Dean bends over the bed so Cas can see his face and Cas beams at him. “You’re actually pretty drunk, huh,” says Dean.

Cas hums happily. “Merry Christmas, Dean,” he says, and promptly falls asleep.

~

Cas’s mouth is very, very dry when he wakes up. He doesn’t want to wake up. Waking up is bad, but something beneath him is moving.

“Morning, Sunshine,” says a cheery voice.

“Mergh,” says Cas.

“Dude, you hardly even drank!”

But Cas hardly ever drinks. And it’s shitty early; still dark outside.

“Cas!” Dean says urgently, poking his side. “It’s Christmas!”

“It’s nighttime,” grumbles Cas.

“Hey, well done, two actual words!”

Dean’s far too enthusiastic for this hour. Keeps wiggling around underneath Cas, and in his head he commands Dean to stay still. If anything, Dean just wriggles more.

There’s a quick kiss above his ear, and Dean’s hot breath on the side of his face. “If I make you coffee, will you get up?”

“No.”

He’s abruptly pushed off Dean’s warm body and the covers disappear from over him. He swears and hears Dean laugh.

Cas curls in on himself to keep warm. He dozes, drooling onto Dean’s pillow, but serves him right for taking Cas’ blankets. Besides, it’s Christmas.

He’s jerked awake for a second time, by Dean’s hand heavy on his stomach.

“Got you coffee,” Dean purrs, hot breath on Cas’ ear.

The coffee is hot and bitter, and it wakes Cas up like nothing else. “No sugar?” chokes Cas.

“Not on Christmas!” Dean says cheerily. He’s in proper pyjamas, ones Cas has never seen him actually wear before, favouring – well, nothing most of the time.

“Cas, I’m going downstairs without you,” Dean warns.

“You already have.”

“Yeah, but, for good. For Christmas things!”

Reluctantly, Cas pulls himself off of the mattress and brings his thick head up slowly. Dean must’ve removed his jeans and shirt in the night, for he’s only in socks and underpants and a thin cotton tee shirt. A pile of his clothes have been tossed onto his suitcase.

“Will it kill you to fold my clothes?” asks Cas, irritated.

“Yup,” Dean grins, planting a kiss on Cas’ lips without warning. “Come on, it’s Christmas!”

~

The phrase “it’s Christmas” has never been repeated so much as it is today. Everything, from Dean trying to swing a beer at breakfast to Deanna’s extravagant cooking and to how Bones is allowed on the couch.

They get dressed after the first round of gift giving – embarrassingly, Deanna and Samuel have a gift for him, as do Mary and Sam, and Cas hates accepting presents, but Cas hands out his token presents. He saves Dean’s for later, as he knows Dean is doing for him.

And then come the clan – Cas was wrong, they’re cousins and second cousins and cousins-once-removed or something, just Campbells in the close vicinity. The adults don’t make themselves known to Cas but the younger ones do; there’s Christian who’s closest in age to Dean and Cas, Gwen nears Sam’s age and Mark, older and monosyllabic.

Cas doesn’t enjoy the sheer amount of unknown people in this situation; retreats into the kitchen to help Deanna on a few occasions and has to be brought back out by Dean, “because I miss you and it’s Christmas.”

Of course.

Gwen eyes him up. “I can see it,” she says, perhaps to Christian beside her. “He’s kind of pretty.”

“Is it you or Deano that’s the girl?” asks Christian, smiling cruelly.

Cas frowns. “Neither,” he replies.

Dean claps a hand on Cas’ shoulder. “Move it, dickwad,” he says to Christian.

“Merry Christmas to you, too, Dean,” Christian says sarcastically and goes to find Sam.

There’s a few more jibes over dinner, to the point where Dean starts to flick peas at his cousin’s face and is almost told to leave the table like a child. Dean takes it in his stride, however, turns the attention to Sam’s feeding Bones at the table.

It’s busy and noisy and very difficult for Cas, truth be told. _Water, water, everywhere, and not a drop to drink._

There’s so much family, and it’s not his family, and his will never be this comfortable and happy around one another, and Cas hates realising this as often as he does. Dean’s family teases him with this, tempting him to join the family but one day this will be over and will be Cas, left adrift with no loved ones or family.

Dean grabs his hand quickly and squeezes it.

Cas squeezes back and lets go. He’s grateful to Dean, of course, but it doesn’t change the fact that every time attention is directed towards him, he’s uncomfortable. And there’s Christmas cake, which is the worst desert, there’s crackers and then lots of alcohol.

And then there’s Dean again. He takes Cas away from his busy family, into the lounge which is blissfully empty.

“I know you hate all these big, family things,” Dean says, taking Cas’ hand. He turns on the stereo and it plays stupid, brilliant Christmas songs. “So, merry Christmas, baby.”

There’s no music in his head, and few poems Cas has read have given him the joy of this situation, so his head is foggy and Dean-filled. Drunk. They kiss with Dean’s hands on Cas’ neck and chin and Cas’ around Dean’s waist, and it’s chaste and PG and they break apart smiling, holding each other, foreheads resting against each other, swaying gently to _A Fairytale of New York._

“I love you,” Dean whispers into his ear.

Cas inhales. Dean’s smell is the greatest scent to grace the earth, all warm and heavy and spicy. The salty smell of sweat and leather, with cinnamon and hair gel. Somehow it works. “I love you, too,” he whispers, feeling Dean relax at his words. “You dumbass,” Cas adds. “If you could ever think I don’t love you...”

“Just shut up and dance with me.”

And how can Cas resist that?


End file.
